Addiction
by Assume-Nothing
Summary: SHORT:THE ITALIAN JOB:: She was beautiful. And I don't mean beautiful in the sense that husbands say their wife is beautiful.


**Addiction **  
An "Italian Job" Vignette 

By: Assume-Nothing

--

She was beautiful. And I don't mean beautiful in the sense that husbands say that their wife is beautiful or women say babies are beautiful. I mean, she was simply stunning as she was hiding out with me, blonde hair sprawled on the cotton pillowcase.

"I have a secret." She murmured, pressed against my right side in the hotel room bed. We rented for a night doing this one, just in case Steve had something planned for our houses. Seemed safe. "Not a secret about combination locks and cameras smaller than your finger and being stubborn." I glanced at her and noted her attempt of comedy. She seemed so far away, her eyes glassy and her entire body loose and breathing. She crumpled herself and left temple side on my shirtless pectorals. The room stood silent in my two seconds of observation.

"We all have secrets, Stel."

"No Charlie. Not like that. Not like Steve's secrets. That... bastard." She softened the word but it still bounced off the four dark walls and kicked at a familiar nerve. I brushed her arm, laying my hand absently on her shoulder. She never stopped her words as I blinked my heavy eyelids. I was listening -- half asleep, but listening. "He fucking killed my father." She sighed and seemed almost surprised at the noise. There was a pause until I felt the slight movement of her looking up at me and I heard her laugh a bit. An ambient, to-herself giggle as she rolled over onto her back, her shoulders encasing my left hand. The silence lasted awhile after that.

"Charlie?" She broke the quiet and I mumbled what seemed like a reply and wiggled a few of my fingers underneath her. I cracked open my eyes just enough to see her smile and roll back onto me again, closer than before. Her fingernails grazed my side, sending shivers along my entire body. I twitched and she stopped. Goddamnit.

--

I felt silly. This was Charlie. Charlie I'd known for God-knows how long. I mean, it wasn't a bad thing but should I answer the question of silliness with more talk? A paradox of sorts. The question I couldn't answer was the one in which I asked myself why I was here in a bed with him after starting this search for Steve. Stella never used to fall like this. Stella was about the work. Stella was a focused, independent woman. Aw, fuck Stella. Me. Her. Fuck.

I sighed to myself but out loud and Charlie gave me a closed-eyed, crooked smile and I decided to continue, but something in my head told me he wasn't in the mood for bedtime stories. I ignored it and told him anyway. The story about how it all started back when I was sixteen and rebellious and wanting to be cool. Well, maybe it wasn't just that. In fact, I knew it wasn't just that but I always tried for that as my excuse. And suddenly my train of words stopped and I thought, just for a second, about my father's reaction when the cops brought me home that one night. Charlie's tired, mindless chuckle caused me to look over to him; my glance catching on a digital clock behind him. 3:57am.

I took in the dark of the room, the silence, the maple furnishings and the moonlight screening off the television. The reflection of light onto the locks on the room's door. The laptop screensaver pinpointing tiny dots that were supposed to be space. 3:58am. With that, Charlie snored softly and I untangled myself from his arms, hoping not to wake him. I stepped into a lit patch on the carpet and coaxed my nightrobe from the armchair where I had left it. Brushing hair out of my eyes, I padded to the bathroom and flicked on the light. My eyes twinkled with dots until they could focus on the face. Tired, eyes rimmed with lack of sleep. My hand in a pocket, touched paper.

It felt familiar. I unfolded it and was aquainted with it's contents... and the pain of being sixteen again. It poured into a line while my father's face shot into my mind. I just wanted to forget about it. Forget about him. Forget about Steve. So I took it in. In once; twice. There had only been enough for two intakes, but that would do. Wiping at my nose and the counter I looked up at myself in the mirror again. Tired, eyes rimmed with lack of sleep. Only the eyes weren't mine. They were Charlie's.


End file.
